


Ghost Tales and Horse Trails

by CypherDecypher



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Revolver
Genre: F/M, Major Spoilers, Named Reader, Slow Burn, The Gangs All Here, Wild wild West, Yee Haw, before the game, non-canon, rdr2 obsession, realistic cowboys, too many horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypherDecypher/pseuds/CypherDecypher
Summary: "Wha' are you tryin' to do?" Arthur wandered up.Rowynn didn't spare him a glance. "I'm hunting that rabbit over there.""With a shotgun?" He didn't sound impressed."How else? This is a gun, you kill things with guns."Arthur ran his hand over his face. "Put that down and get a rifle from your horse. I'll show you how to shoot a rabbit."
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader, John Marston/Arthur Morgan/Reader, John Marston/Original Female Character(s), John Marston/Reader, Kieran Duffy/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. April 9, 1885

“John,” came the shrill cry, “if you don’t get your ass down here in the next thirty seconds you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than soggy bread.”

Rowynn snorted when she saw a tired face peek out from behind a tent flap. “Wha’ time is it?”

“Time to get up,” Rowynn urged.

John grumbled and flopped out of the shabby tent. Rowynn giggled and poked the fire she was sitting at. Morning in Illinois spring was humid and cold, not a creative combination. Rowynn rolled her eyes and continued to stare at the fire. It was small, just barely a level above being an ember but it was enough to keep her warm. She shivered again and flexed her toes in her shoes. She absolutely despised mornings like this.

John shambled over to her and collapsed dramatically at her side. Rowynn huffed but smirked. John, her little brother but not of blood. They were more siblings of unfortunate occurrences.

“Bread again?” John poked at the lump Rowynn held out to him.

“If you want to get a job you’re welcome to it,” Rowynn insisted. “Neither of us can hunt, we can’t fish ‘cause we don’t have a pole. It’ll be bread every morning until you learn to stop complaining and actually do something.”

John let out a sigh. “Why can’t you learn to hunt.”

“I don’t have a gun or a bow. And I already have a job at the stables.”

John’s eyes darkened. “I don’t like horses.”

“An’ I’m not saying you have ta. You just need to start pulling your weight.”

John said nothing and Rowynn pushed the bread into his palms. She stood and cracked her back, watching the sunrise. Her stable duty would start soon. It was a smelly job with long hours and little to no pay but the man who owned the barn was nice enough. He let her pet the horses in her free time and taught her how to ride. He offered to sell her a nag on several occasions but Rowynn knew that she would never manage to work it off. She hated that job, but boy did she love those horses.

She turned to John. “You be good when I’m gone. Read some o’ that book I taught you.”

“Too hard.” He took up her place of poking the fire.

Rowynn snorted and went off. “Don’t get into the Hashburg’s pigsty again!”

He yelled a response but Rowynn was too far away to hear him. The small town rose before her. It was a small, Illinois town under the name of Bumblebee. The main product was horses and sheep and not much else. It was the town Rowynn had grown up in and it would most likely be the town she died in. She snorted. Fifteen-year-old girls weren’t supposed to have those kinds of thoughts. Then again, they shouldn’t have to worry about the next time they would be eating either.

A few quaint, wooden shops rose to the sides of the streets. Few people were out and about this early. Rowynn was known as one of the ‘good’ street urchins that lived in the camp outside of town. She didn’t steal, she didn’t kill, she tried to work hard and that came with an inch of respect. That inch wasn’t nearly enough.

“Heya Mr. Drew,” she slurred out.

The portly man turned with a jovial smile. “Rowynn! How did you sleep? I hope you ate last night.”

“I did Mr. Drew.” Rowynn liked Mr. Drew. “Anything new today?”

He shook his head. “That shipment o’ saddlers that were supposed to be here yesterday are still missing. I hope they weren’t rustled.”

“Me too, Mr. Drew.”

“You’re free to work. Get the stables cleaned and the like. Some of the paints were antsy las’ night so be careful when letting them out.”

“How’s Snowy?”

Mr. Drew rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand how that brute of an arabian stole your heart, and you decided to give it the worst name in the history of names.”

Rowynn was insulted. “He’s a white horse. He looks like snow. His name is Snowy.”

“He’s a bastard is what he is.”

Rowynn giggled and sauntered up to the horse stalls. A brown and white spotted nose peeked over the stall door. The small paint looked up at her, his ears up and his eyes glittering. Rowynn giggled and reached her hand to rub his pink muzzle. The stallion nickered appreciatively and threw his head back.

“Eager to start the day are you?”

He lacked a lead but that was a quick fix as Rowynn tied the rope to his halter. The paint was eager to get started and tugged Rowynn out of the barn. She reeled him back and opened the corral gate for him. He pranced and shook out his mane as Rowynn reached under his jaw to undo the knot. As soon as it came off, the paint took off, throwing his mane into the wind. Rowynn made her way out of the corral and back into the barn, amused with the paint’s antics. She loved that horse, she loved every horse, but she especially loved the stubborn ones that never got any love. She watched them open up to her after many months of training and treats. She loved being the only one they allowed near, or on them, without kicking up a fuss. Snowy had always been one of her favorites.

The albino arabian was basically free at this point. He was big, white, and had a nasty look in his eye. He was brought in when Rowynn first started working under Mr. Drew three years ago. That horse would bite and kick anyone that came near him. Rowynn would not let him go. She insisted on keeping him until the right rider came along to tame him. Rowynn had wormed her way into the stallion's heart until he wouldn’t nip at her when she went near. Snowy still hated to be ridden but Rowynn prayed that would change soon. Snowy eyed her cautiously as she approached.

Upon her pulling several sugar cubes from her pocket, his entire demeanor changed. “Heya boy.

Snowy lapped the sugar from her palm and nuzzled her shirt once the sweet treat was gone. Rowynn laughed and pushed his head upwards. Snowy allowed her gentle movements as she tied the rope off and began to lead him out of his stall. She crashed face-first into a chest. She yelped, stumbling backward. She collided with Snowy who stood here passively while Rowynn’s face erupted in a mortified blush.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed out, refusing to look up.

“It’s quite all right,” the man responded, too proper to be a local.

Rowynn refused to look up and yanked on Snowy’s lead. He trotted after her jerky movements. She wanted to put her head in her hands. She should have been paying attention. What if she had just chased off a buyer? She stared at his shiny, black riding shoes as she walked past.

“That’s a fine horse Miss,” the man called after her.

Rowynn rushed to the yard for the horses and brought Snowy in. He never did well with other horses, often nipping at their flanks so Rowynn had to be by his side while he exercised. She untied him and let him canter around the fences. He reared and galloped back. She smiled at his showing off and he tried to nip a small mare. Rowynn tutted and yelled Snowy’s name. The stallion pulled back and rushed to the other side of the corral.

“Fine horse,” Rowynn looked up to see an older gentleman leaning against the fence. “The white one.”

“He’s a bastard,” Rowynn offered.

“To everyone but you, it seems.”

“I’ve known him for a long time. He can’t help but not like me.”

A man strutted out of the barn and Rowynn ducked her face under her hat. It was the man with the shiny shoes. Mr. Drew was leading him to the corral, a brand new Gerden Trail saddle in his arms. The new man turned to the other two and jumped in their conversation. Rowynn took this as her cue to rush out.

She managed to get back to the barn unscathed, much to her relief. The empty stalls stunk and several lacked fresh hay. The other farmhands were slacking. Rowynn huffed and grabbed a pitchfork from its place on the wall. If she wasn’t covered in dirty hay and horse shit by the end of the day, she would buy an entire slab of venison from the butchers.


	2. April 10, 1885

Rowynn went back to the stables the next day without waking John. She saw the coins heavy in his pockets and the watch hanging out of his fist. She knew that they didn’t belong to him and she wouldn’t be the one to save him when their owners came calling.

Mr. Drew was handing a man the reigns to a workhorse when she finished letting the horses out to run. Mr. Drew must have seen her gazing at the horses as they roamed when he leaned against the fence. He nodded to Snowy.

“I’d give him to you,” Mr. Drew offered. “I know how much you want to get out of this town.”

Rowynn looked at him with big eyes. “I could never, Mr. Drew. I don’t know anything about keeping a horse for myself. I don’t even know how to fully ride faster than a trot.”

Mr. Drew shrugged. “The offer is out there. I’d suggest you take it before someone else does.”

Later that day, Mr. Drew had help from several town boys with hammering a sign into the ground. Rowynn was proud that her mama taught her how to read before she died. It was simple but messy text:

“White Arabian  
Free for anyone who can ride.”

Mr. Drew turned to her when he was done. “Saddle up ol’ Snowy. I think some of these boys want to try.”

Rowynn called for the stallion and lead him back into the barn. Snowy happily accepted the blanket on his back. He complained when she heaved the saddle onto his back. He puffed up his sides and bucked slightly when she reached under him. He held his breath when she tried to tighten the straps.

“None o’ that Snowy,” Rowynn nudged his rump. “Can’t have the saddle slipping off.”

She managed to convince him to breathe and she tightened the saddle under him. He shook his head at the bit but Rowynn was careful. She knew some of the farmhands clinked the metal bit against the horses’ teeth and made them cautious about bridles. Rowynn was always careful. Snowy shifted his mouth and grimaced as horses do at the cold metal in the soft part of his mouth.

She brought him out to the corral. The stallion threw his head up and tried to look proud as she brought him into the corral by the fence. She stroked his muzzle as boys lined up to ride the monster.

“He’s all yours, Mr. Drew.” Rowynn handed him the reigns.

Snowy immediately got antsy but didn’t lash out yet. As long as Rowynn stayed close by, the stallion would stay slightly calmer.

The first boy up was the one who works under the butcher. Why he wanted a horse was beyond Rowynn. He climbed over the fence and looped his feet into the stirrups. As soon as Snowy felt weight on his back and Mr. Drew let go of the reigns, he went wild. The boys hooted as the stallion threw the boy clear off his back. The only thing that was hurt was his pride but Rowynn knew that Snowy could do worse.

It had been a solid hour or two when most of the boys had given up. The town drunk had tried at one point but he fell down the minute he tried to swing over Snowy’s back. The worst injury was a broken arm from a farmhand boy who got trampled once he was bucked. Rowynn was relaxing under a nearby tree while work slowed. Mr. Drew didn’t care if she didn’t work on days like these. Too much excitement left little room for work. The two men from the day before, the older gentleman and the proper one, were leaning against the fence. They seemed to be debated if it would be worth the risk of a horse for a broken bone.

A scream pulled Rowynn from her thoughts. A few people turned but not many bothered. Most assumed it was Maxine, that crazy girl with her crazy boy. They were never quiet, especially when they argued about something. This scream was different, it was a call that Rowynn knew. A scream that answered her when she first tried to convince John to swim. When he found a spider under his pillow. When a bat got tangled up in his hair. It was his scream, but much, much worse.

Rowynn jumped to her feet and rushed into the town. “John! John! Where are you? John!”

A sob for help. “Rowynn!”

Rowynn lurched in the direction of the churchyard. Three men were hauling John to his feet. Their faces were red and guns hung from their hips. They grabbed at John’s hair and slammed their fists into his face while he continued to scream for help. Rowynn increased her pace when he noticed where they were dragging him. The hanging pillory.

“Stop!” Rowynn screamed. “You can’t do that. You have to stop. Please, stop!”

Her cried went unheard as John was dragged up the first step to the platform.

“Whatever he did, he didn’t mean it. I’ll pay back everything that was owed.”

One of the men finally turned at her plea. “You this kid’s mother?”

“Sister,” Rowynn cried. “I'm his sister. Let him go.”

The man’s meaty paw wrapped around her arm and yanked her towards him. “It’s not ‘bought the money. It’s ‘bought a ten-year-old stealin’ from us.”

“He’s not ten, he’s twelve. Let him go.”

The man swung his other hand into the air and slammed it down on her cheek. Her head snapped back and pain flooded her senses.

“Rowynn!” John sobbed.

She stared up at him. Her brother not of blood. A rope getting tied by one of the men, ready to slip over his neck. A life, so innocent and pure, gone before they even knew what life was. Rowynn’s vision flashed red.

She didn’t think, she couldn’t, she just acted. Her hand slipped around the closet weapon in the man’s belt. It was a simple hunting knife, nearly half the length of her forearm. The blade came out of the sheath easily and into the man’s flesh even smoother. The blade ripped into flesh and blood sprayed across Rowynn’s face. It was warm and salty in her mouth. The man stared at her in shock before his body crumpled to the floor. The other two men were too shocked to move. The man sported a bloody slash across his chest and throat. He was gurgling in his own blood as his eyes went foggy. Rowynn didn’t wait to see the rest of his death. She charged forward, knife raised, a battle cry pouring from her lips. 

BANG.

Rowynn faltered, her body pausing. Who fired a gun? She looked up. It was the man holding John, but the barrel wasn’t pointed at John. Why was it at her? Her chest heaved as pain shot up her arm. She glanced down. Her shoulder had a bloody spot on it, dripping blood at a steady pace onto her shirt. It hurt. Why couldn’t she hear anything? Someone was screaming. Why did her throat hurt? 

Her senses came back to her in a hurricane. People were screaming and lawmen were nowhere in sight. John was screaming her name while one of the men slipped a noose around his neck.

“I got the bitch,” the man urged. “Get rid of this one.”

The man pointed his gun at Rowynn again. Her body crumpled to the ground as another bullet pierced the air. She didn’t feel any pain but the bullet was loud and clear. The man with the gun dropped to the floor, a hole between his eyes. Tears began to pour down Rowynn’s face. Everything hurt. John was whimpering as he was dropped to the ground. She watched him tear the noose off his neck and push past the shocked man. The other man collapsed to the ground as another round screamed through the air and into his chest. Blood dripped off Rowynn’s cheeks as John tried to haul her to her feet. Her limbs were numb and she could only register pain.

Horse hooves clattered against the dirt. A white stallion reared in front of her. The man riding it had shiny shoes and a black vest. She knew him from somewhere. John was hauled off of her, screaming her name as he was set into the saddle before the man. Another horse rounded on Rowynn. The golden mare paused as arms wrapped around Rowynn. The man put her in the saddle before climbing on himself. Blood covered his hands. Her vision swayed in and out as the horse began to gallop out of the town. She closed her eyes and refused to open them.


	3. April 12, 1885

Rowynn woke with a start and a rolling stomach. She felt much too hot underneath the furs piled atop her. She promptly rolled to one side and emptied the contents within her stomach. She was left dry heaving onto the ground, the acidic taste mingling in her mouth. A hand grabbed her shoulder and steadied her. She grunted and pawed at the water cup held in front of her face. She gulped down the water and vomited it up again.

“Slower sweetheart.” The voice was gentle and had a thick, southern drawl to it.

Rowynn did as instructed, her breaths slowing as she sipped at the water. Her vision was slightly foggy and her shoulder burned. She tried to roll it out but the hand stopped her. She wished she could at least see who was helping her.

“You still need to rest,” the woman urged. “You’re still healing.”

Rowynn rolled onto her back and came face to face with a beautiful woman. Short, curly hair was piled onto her head in a bun. Two green eyes stared down at Rowynn above a button nose and a beauty mark. She smiled softly and pulled the water away.

“Where’s John?” Rowynn’s voice was rough from a mixture of sleep and throwing her insides onto the ground.

“John’s fine sweetheart.” Rowynn liked being called sweetheart. “You should be worried about yourself before thinking about him. You was shot.”

Rowynn grunted and lolled her head back against the furs. “That explains a lot.”

The woman took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Are you doing okay? Do you need more water or something to numb the pain?”

“Where am I? I want to see John.”

The woman smiled. “I’ll get him in a minute. Just rest for now.”

Rowynn continued to stare at the canvas above her. She wasn’t in a house, that was for sure. She could hear the whinnies of horses outside but it was too quiet to still be in town. A slight, cooler breeze blew into the tent. It was still dark outside, most likely evening or morning if the lantern hanging above was anything to go off of. 

She coughed gently. “What’s today?”

“Mid April. You’ve been asleep for two days. Pretty common for gunshot wound victims. Your body tries to heal so you sleep for a long time. Susan will come in to change your bandages once everyone wakes up.”

Rowynn wasn’t fazed about the fact she had slept for two days. It explained how thirsty she was mixed with how little her stomach had. And it was morning, that was good to know.

“I’m good for now,” Rowynn said. “It o’ly hurts when I move.”

The woman nodded. “That’s good.”

A moment of silence. Night insects were still buzzing but birdsong was quick to join the mix. A tad bit of light shone in through the canvas of the tent.

“I know your name so it’s only fair I tell you mine.” The woman brushed a few sweaty strands from Rowynn’s face. “I’m Annabelle.”

“Nice to meet you, Annabelle.”

A loud noise erupted outside the tent. It was a squawk of excitement, following by yelling, and then pounding footsteps. John burst into the tent. His hair was shorter than normal. He pounced on Rowynn. She let out a grunt of pain but slung her uninjured arm around his waist. John snuggled his face into Rowynn’s shoulder, her skin quickly becoming wet.

“I thought you’s was dead,” he cried. “I thought I had killed you.”

Rowynn ran her hand through John’s hair. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy. Dry your tears you fool. Never scare me like that ‘gain and we won’t have to worry about my possible death.”

John only whimpered and tightened his grasp around Rowynn. Annabelle looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. She left the tent without a word. An hour or so after sun-up and John was dragged off her by a portly woman with a few grays in her hair.

“Get out you.” She ushered John out by his ear. “I can’t have to all over her. Get out!”

The woman turned to Rowynn with a considerably kinder smile. Rowynn returned the grin. She didn’t complain or fidget as the woman peeled her shirt away to get to the bandages. The cloth was soft but there was a clear splotch of red on them. The woman, she introduced herself as Susan Grimshaw, cleared the cloth away and tutted over the healing wound. It was still open and had only a little scabbing around the rim. It had stopped bleeding which made Mrs. Grimshaw a little happier. Rowynn winced as she pressed at the flesh around the wound. She was ordered on bed rest until Grimshaw could touch it without her flinching.

“Can I still see John,” Rowynn asked.

Grimshaw looked skeptical. “Only when you’re not resting. I don’t want that opening up again so help me.”

Rowynn smiled at her empty threat. She called Annabelle into the tent and Rowynn’s hair was given a good washing. A wet cloth was ran over the rest of her skin before clean clothes were donned once more. Rowynn was insistant about not wearing a dress so a too big shirt and too tight trousers were slipped on. Annabelle claimed she would get more clothing before Rowynn would be fully healed.

The two women left the tent. Rowynn heard Annabelle talking with someone in a hushed voice just outside. Annabelle got heated over something and stormed off as her voice faded. The tent flap opened and Rowynn nearly groaned. She just wanted to sleep now, she had too many visitors today.

“I’m happy to see that you’re healing and awake,” the man took another step into the tent. “Do you know who I am?”

Rowynn rolled to face him. He was the one she had seen at the stables several times. Black hair, black vest over a red shirt, a ring on one of his fingers, and shiny shoes. He had saved John’s life.

“You saved me and my friend.”

The man nodded. “More than you could know. My name is Dutch Van der Linde. Can you tell me how old you are Ms?”

Rowynn thought for a minute. “Fifteen.”

The man nodded. “John said you work well with horses?”

Rowynn’s eyes brightened. “I love horses. They’re my favorite animals, better than people at least.”

Dutch cracked a smile. “That’s good to hear. I have a proposition for you. I--”

“Did you ask John?”

He seemed startled. “Yes, I did. Now--”

“Did he accept your offer?”

“Yes?”

Rowynn put her good arm over her eyes. “Okay, I say yes too.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer. It’ll be hard and you’ll never stay in one place for long. We’re out in the wildrness for months. I want you to join this ragtag family we’re making.”

“Where ever John goes, I go. Doesn’t matter what I have to do, we stay together. And if this deal gets me out of that town, I’m more than willing to do what you need me to.”

Dutch nodded. “Welcome to the Van der Linde gang then.”

Rowynn pulled her arm away to look at him. “I hope you don’t expect me to do much these first couple weeks I’m wit’ you.”

Dutch looked her over. “Heal first and we’ll talk about chores and such later.

“That, I can do. If you’ll excuse me I have been shot and frankly, I’m pretty tired. Goodnight, sir.”

Dutch chuckled and stood. “I’m excited to have you as a part of this family, Ms.”

Rowynn said nothing and shut her eyes. The sun was giving her too much of a headache after all.


	4. April 17, 1885

Rowynn had tried to sneak out of her tent three times since she had first woke up in the tent. All three were unsuccessful and Rowynn assumed that the majority of the gang was tired of her breakouts. Who could blame her? She was restless, cooped up in a drafty tent all day and treated like she was a cripple. She insisted she felt better, good enough to walk around camp, but Ms. Grimshaw still insisted she stay put. 

During her first breakout, she just wanted to use the bathroom by herself. She didn’t expect to have a guard at her tent. A boy, several years older than herself, sat a few feet from her tent by the dying fire. She tried to sneak around him, but her yelp of pain when she jolted her shoulder couldn’t be ignored. The boy snorted and ignored her pleas as he brought her back into her tent. He introduced himself as Arthur but didn’t say anything else. Rowynn wasn’t sure if she liked him or not.

The second time was a more wild attempt. She knew that they had horses and how she wanted to pet one. Once she spotted the white coat of Snowy, who had somehow been brought to the camp, she was determined to give him a snack. In the early morning, she waited until Arthur left to trade guard positions with a man named Hosea, one of the men that helped Dutch to save her and John’s lives. Rowynn rushed out as fast as she could. She had learned to walk without jostling her shoulder too much but it put a heavy strain on her legs. Once she got to the horses, she didn’t expect a saddled standardbred to stare down at her. It was too tempting of an offer. She rode into the plains of Illinois just to see how far from town they were. Her wound tore open at some point during the standardbred’s trot. She returned to a frantic camp and a heavy scolding by nearly all of the adults. Surprisingly enough, it was Arthur who managed to get all of their attention off her. Ms. Grimshaw claimed she would have smacked her if her wound hadn’t opened. Instead, she was giving a firm talking to. A beating would have been preferred to Ms. Grimshaw’s lecture.

The third attempt went better than the other two. As soon as her injury had scabbed over, she was found attempting to make breakfast for the gang. Dutch had awoken to the warm smell of freshly cooked venison and baked beans, a recipe Rowynn still remembered from her mama. Rowynn was once again lectured, but not as harshly as her shoulder was fine and boy could she cook something delicious. She was ushered back to her tent but was given a healthy portion that morning.

Rowynn was determined to turn three breakouts into four. She padded to the opening in her tent and peeked her head out. She knew Dutch, Arthur, and John were out to practice John’s aim with a gun. Ms. Grimshaw was in town with Annabelle, getting Rowynn some clothes that would actually fit her. To her knowledge, Hosea and his wife Bessie were still in camp but out of everyone there, they were the least likely to punish her.

She made her way to the campfire and leaned against a log to watch the flames lick at the log. She held her injured arm in her lap carefully. A presence sat at her side.

“Look who’s up,” Hosea snorted.

Rowynn gave him a crooked grin. “I just want to be outside for a bit.”

Bessie took the empty spot on Rowynn’s other side. “And here I thought you missed our company.”

Rowynn got comfortable. “You can tell yourself that.”

Hosea grunted. “As long as you don’t hurt yourself, you can stay out and we won’t tell Ms. Grimshaw.”

Rowynn let out a breath. “Thanks. I can’t handle too much more of her babying.”

“And here we are thinking that you like to be looked after.” Bessie’s response was clearly sarcastic but not meant to hurt.

Rowynn turned to Hosea instead. “How much longer do you think I have before I heal.”

Hosea thought it over. “Maybe another week or so. I can teach you something that may help.”

He pulled out a stone bowl with a stone stick. The stick was fat and had a curved side that rested in the bowl. Hosea pulled a few flowers and berried from his satchel and dropped them into the bowl. He added a splash of water from a bucket and mashed the plants together. He offered Rowynn the bowl and she wrinkled her nose at the mixture. It was a light red and smelled almost spicy. 

She gave Hosea a skeptical look. “You gave this to me like I should know what to do with a bunch of mushy plants.”

Hosea chuckled. “Yarrow, burdock, and currant can make an excellent healing tonic. Heat it over the fire.”

Rowynn wrinkled her nose. “You say that like these are better than actual medicine.”

“Trust me Rowynn.”

She rolled her eyes as he held out a small tin with a pair of tongs. She scooped the goopy mixture into the tin and rested it over the fire.

“Once it becomes a darker red add some water,” Hosea suggested. “It’ll be ready to drink. Try to ignore the taste, it will really make you heal faster.”

Rowynn watched as the mash thickened to a near paste and darkened to a bloody tint. She added water and held the still-warm tonic to her lips. It reeked of earth and something spicy. She downed it and nearly gagged, tempted to spit it out. She held back the feeling. If Hosea claimed this would make her feel better, she would do anything to get out of that tent. She downed the entire tonic and quickly washed down the taste with a cup of cool water.

“See,” Hosea chuckled. “Not that bad.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Rowynn panted.

Bessie patted her back. “Don’t be silly. We just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Rowynn rolled her eyes. “I’ve known you only a little over a week. You seem to treat me like your kid.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

Rowynn shook her head. “Nothing wrong at all.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Several gunshots rang from the distance. Rowynn was tempted to laugh. She knew it was John trying to hunt something. If he actually managed to kill something she would eat her own hat. She turned her attention to the horses. The bronze standardbred she had taken out was present. Snowy was grazing nearby, his head lowered to the grass. He was calm and a little ways away from all the other horses. Rowynn smiled gently. Hosea noticed her gaze.

“You like that horse,” he noted.

Rowynn nodded. “I’m usually the only one that can get near him. I call him Snowy.”

Bessie broke down with laughter. “Tell that to Dutch.”

“What?”

“Dutch stole that horse the day he saved your’s and John’s life,” Bessie explained. “He calls him the Count.”

“That’s a dumb name,” Rowynn huffed.

“So is Snowy,” Hosea argued back, playful.

“I never said it wasn’t,” she exclaimed. “Let’s just call him Bastard and be done with it.”

The trio laughed. Hosea dove into a story about how Dutch’s old horse, Heidi, saved both Hosea and Dutch’s life from a grizzly bear. Rowynn listened happily and giggled when Bessie cut in to argue details. She could get used to living like this.


	5. April 29, 1885

Rowynn had thought Illinois was muggy but then they moved into Missouri. Rowynn was more than happy to move away from Illinois. There was no real reason for moving, Dutch just wanted to get out of the state. Rowynn leaned back in the covered wagon and stretched out across the furs. Annabelle laughed and followed suit. Despite the woman being much older than Rowynn, she thought of her like a sister rather than a mother. She was a lovely woman who managed to convince Mrs. Grimshaw that her imprisonment in her tent could end. As soon as she was given the clear, the gang backed up and headed out. Mrs. Grimshaw pleaded that she wasn’t well enough but Annabelle was the one to put her foot down and insist that fresh air would be just the thing Rowynn needed to finish the healing process. Mrs. Grimshaw insisted she couldn’t ride on a horse yet so she was loaded into a wagon with Annabelle as company. Bessie and Hosea lead the wagon, Hosea with the reigns and Bessie on the harmonica. Mrs. Grimshaw drove the supply wagon behind them. Dutch and John brought up the front. John had been given a colt under the name Old Boy and, although John hated horses, John loved that horse. Arthur brought up the rear with the rest of the horses on an old mare with the name Mouse. The wagons had been moving for the last week as Dutch was determined to cross the Mississippi River within the week.

Rowynn laughed as Bessie began belting out of the first lines of a trail song. Hosea must have known the words as he immediately began singing after her. Annabelle tapped her hands to the beat and Rowynn simply stared at the canvas of the wagon.

“You know how to read,” Annabelle asked.

Rowynn looked at the book resting by her head. “A little. Not big words but I can read a book or two, it just takes me a while. Never tried writing, never really needed it.”

Annabelle nodded. “Dutch is tryin’ to teach that brother of your’s, John was it? That boy is thicker than mud in the bayou.”

Rowynn snorted, not correcting her over the fact that Annabelle called John her brother. “I tried for years to get him to read a book. Said it didn’t matter and he was too busy.”

Annabelle shook her head. “Dutch is determined to drive books into that boy’s skull until he’s puking up pages.”

Rowynn giggled and sat up. “Do you know he can’t swim either?”

“Really?” She sat up too. “Even I know how to save myself from drowning.”

Rowynn nodded. “One time we was out by the river, more of a stream really. I was trying to convince John into the water with the other children in the town. He got in and started to panic, I thought a pike had grabbed his leg. I had to pull him out and he was sobbing like a baby.”

“Was he alright?”

“Considering the water wasn’t taller than his waist, he was fine. He just hates water. Told me he never wants to go near it again.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Annabelle’s words were hushed and she had a mischievious look in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Arthur hates snakes. And Hosea can’t stand potatoes.”

“Really?”

“Really. A gopher snake, the ones that look like rattlers, got into Arthur’s tent one night. Scared the boy senseless. And Hosea refuses to eat anything with potatoes in them.”

Rowynn chuckled. “I’m gonna find a snake to scare Arthur with.”

“If you do, don’t tell him I was the one to tell you he hated them.”

Rowynn collapsed in the furs, minding her shoulder. “I have to admit, I’m scared of wolves.”

“You ever encounter one?”

“Not really, I heard them howl at night. A man came in one day, all bloody and broken. Apparently there was a wolf as big as a horse that stalked the forest. It killed his horse and left him alive. The man didn’t survive the night.”

Annabelle glanced at her. “I can assure you, no wolf gets that big. You don’t have to worry about them when you’re with us. How are you with dogs?”

“Dogs, I’m fine with. It’s just the wolves I can’t handle. They sound like ghosts when they’re up in the hills.”

Annabelle made a noise of agreement. Rowynn made herself comfortable and was tempted to close her eyes. Horse hooves made her look up. John came trotting upon his little, brown horse. His eyes were bright and screamed excitement.

“Dutch ‘n I just caught our first glance at the River,” he whooped before racing back to the front.

Rowynn turned to Annabelle with pleading eyes. “Can I go see the river? I’ve never seen one so big before.”

Annabelle thought it over. “I promised Mrs. Grimshaw you would stay in here the whole time.”

Hosea turned in his seat. “She can come up here for a while.”

Bessie looked eager. “We can switch. I’m done with Hosea’s singing.”

Hosea was insulted. “Dear, you love it when I sing.”

Bessie pouted. “Let me and Annabelle have some girl talk. You can bore Rowynn with your wild stories.”

They paused the wagon long enough for Bessie to help Rowynn into the driver’s seat and climb into the back. A glittering river shone through the trees many miles away. Rowynn couldn’t even see the far bank, although they were a long distance from it.

“How big it the river?”

Hosea’s eyes gleamed. “Wider than any other and the longest you’ve ever seen.”

“How are we going to cross it?”

“We’ll fly of course. What? You thought we were going to swim?”

“Be serious Hosea,” Rowynn urged. 

“You’re no fun. There’s a crossing in a narrow place. It’ll be the longest bridge you’ll ever cross.”

“The horses will be okay?”

“They’ll be fine. They’ve gone up and down the sides of mountains, a long bridge ain’t nothing for them.”

Rowynn made a sound of agreement. “Have you been here before?”

“Once, a long time ago. It was before I met Dutch and had to cross the bridge by myself. My horse nearly fell off when a snake spooked her but I managed to get off before she bucked me.”

“Bessie said you had some wild stories to tell me.”

Hosea chuckled. “Depends on how true you want them.”

“Tell me a story about the first time you met Dutch.”

“Now that’s a good story.”

Rowynn got comfortable as Hosea began.

“It was 1874, or maybe ‘75, and I was headed for Chicago. I had this crazy dream of becoming the greatest poker player in the world and I thought that Chicago would be the place to do it. I got money through petty theft and small games but I was basically penniless. I found a little campfire on the side of the road and got off my horse to see if there was anyone I could hustle.”

“He’s very good at it,” Bessie interrupted.

“Is this your story or mine?” Hosea chuckled. “Where was I? Oh, right. The owner of the camp was this young man with big dreams and a bigger mouth. Talking about his philosophy of a better world. During the exchange, I managed to steal the coins right out of his pockets. When I went to put them in my own, I realized he had stolen from me right back. We laughed and talked. We decided that the world was harsh on a single thief that stole pennies to get by. But two petty thieves, well, the world was our oyster.”

“How did you decide to call it the Van der Linde gang,” Rowynn asked. “Why not the Matthews gang? Or something random, like the Rattler gang?”

“Well, the Matthews gang wouldn’t be rememberable enough. Have you ever heard of the last name Van der Linde? It stuck better. After all, Dutch was the one to suggest we form a little family, not me. I may be the brains of this group, but he’s still the leader.”

“I think the Rowynn Amory gang sounds better.”

Hosea laughed. “Maybe you should start your own gang?”

Rowynn agreed. “And all the members would be horses.”


	6. May 3, 1885

They pulled into a little place just outside a town Hosea called Genevieve. It was small and most of the residents spoke French or at least at the accent. A mile or so from the town was a patch of forest and a stream that lead off the Mississippi. Rowynn hopped out of the wagon. Her shoulder was tender but most of the wound was healed save for a little stiffness. Dutch called the rest of the gang towards her wagon and leaned against the side.

“It’s going to be good here,” Dutch insisted. “I can feel it in my bones. Ladies, please get the camp set up. Hosea, take John out and see what kind of animals are in the area, bring something back that we can eat. Arthur and Rowynn, scout the town and see what kind of work is out there.”

“Why us,” Arthur asks

“A supposed brother and sister without parents are less suspicious than myself or Hosea,” Dutch explained. “We are going to do just fine here. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Rowynn had a feeling that was directed at the younger members of the gang but she brushed it off. John was hissing at Hosea, literally hissing like a wildcat, when he tried to help John into his saddle. Rowynn giggled and turned to Arthur.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” she snarked.

“It does look that way.” He led her to the horses. “You know how to ride?”

“Not very well but I can stay in the saddle well enough. I just don’t have a horse yet.”

Arthur pointed out the massive standardbred that Rowynn had taken a liking to. “What ‘bout that one?”

“Are you saying I can just choose whichever leftover horse you’ve got?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m saying you can have this one, take him or leave him.”

Rowynn huffed but walked up to the horse. “His name is Poncho.”

“Has anyone told you you’re terrible at naming.”

“Many times, yes.”

Arthur swung himself into Mouse’s saddle. Rowynn looked up at Poncho. He looked down at her with tired eyes. He was old and graying but still a beautiful horse. She led him over to a rock and clambered onto the rock to climb into the saddle. Arthur didn’t say anything but she could tell he was hiding his smile.

She took up her position behind him as he led the way out of camp on a tiny path cut between the trees. Plains widened before them, relatively flat with forest-covered cliffs in the far distance. The land sloped down and into the River in the distance. Rowynn remembered crossing it only two days ago. She smiled and trotted up to Arthur’s side.  
“Wanna race?” Rowynn spurred Poncho’s sides to make him speed up.

“You said you don’t really know how to ride,” Arthur argued.

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll fall off an’ Dutch will have my hide.”

“Try to keep up then.”

Rowynn dug her spurs into Poncho’s sides. For an older horse, he knew how to run. She whooped as he picked up his pace to a steady gallop. This was the first time she had ridden a horse this fast, but Rowynn decided it was a smoother motion than any trot could be. She heard Arthur curse behind her and force Mouse to rush after her. The wooden town rose behind a ridge in the land. It was on the very edge of the Mississippi, great steamboats and smaller paddleboats along the bank and on the docks. A bait shop waited by the water, a group of people clustered around as a man weighed a massive catfish. A gunshop was on the other side, followed by a butcher’s stand and a clothes shop. A few homes stretched down the main road and ended with a tiny sheriff's office. Rowynn slowed Poncho down just outside the entrance to the town with a small sign announcing the town’s name.

Arthur trotted up to Rowynn with a playful scowl. He reached over and ruffled her hair into a messy pile atop her head. Rowynn huffed but did nothing to fix the mess.

Arthur smiled. “Don’t run off on me like that.”

“I beat you,” Rowynn affirmed. “I’m telling everyone I beat you in a race.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You had a huge headstart.”

“I can’t wait to see Dutch’s face when he learns the mighty Arthur Morgan was beat in a race by a fifteen-year-old!”

Arthur climbed off Mouse and hitched her to a post. “Ignoring my apparently cripplin’ defeat, any idea of what we’re doing here?”

Rowynn shrugged and tied Poncho to a different post. “There seems to be a good market for fish here if you have a pole. Hunting looks profitable too. There might be bounties in the jail.”

“In a town as small as this, I doubt it. I have a fishin’ pole but I’m not that good of a fisher.”

“Then you can teach me. Two bad fishers are better than one.”

Arthur nudged her shoulder. “You’re right kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Arthur led her to the docks. “What’s with you and John ‘bout that? He hissed at me last time I called him that.”

“That boy is crazier than a cat and thicker than mud,” Rowynn agreed. “He’s a wild one, always has been since his daddy died. We had to grow up too fast without parents so we both hate being called ‘kid’. Puts a bad taste in our mouths when we had to work so hard for e’erything we got.”

Arthur hummed. “Noted.”

He stopped in front of the bait shop and looked in the window. A few people milled in and out with fish wrapped in brown paper or a brand new pole. Rowynn continued to observe the town.

“Lot’s of dumb people here,” Rowynn laughed. “Hosea’s gonna have a field day with all these poor fools.”

Arthur made a hum of agreement. “I’m gonna ask around ‘bout work and such. Make yourself useful an’ see what people are catching in the river.”

Rowynn nodded. “I’ll keep my ear open for rumors.”

“Meet back at the horses. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

“Don’t leave without me!” Rowynn bounded away towards the docks.

She was excited to be in a new town. This was the first one she had ever seen outside of Bumblebee. New people with strange accents and even stranger clothing. A group of men gathered on the shore with poles, talking lazily and not paying attention to much.

“What’cha catching?” Rowynn sauntered up to the group.

Most of the men didn’t spare her a glance but one seemed more friendly. He wore expensive clothes and had a finely trimmed mustache. He clearly had money to spare so why he was fishing was beyond her.

“Someone claimed they saw a walleye bigger than a dog this morning.” He had a thick, French accent. “Half the town’s determined to catch it.”

Rowynn hummed. “You sure it wasn’t a log?”

“Unless logs have scales an’ fins.” The man turned back to his fishing.

Rowynn huffed and wandered away. Not much else to do. She watched a group of women cross the street louder than a flock of chickens. She continued to make her way down the street. She saw Arthur just outside the jail, speaking to a man with a big hat that Rowynn assumed was the sheriff. A whimpering pulled her from her thoughts. She turned in a circle, trying to locate the noise. A softer, high pitched bark made her freeze. She darted into an alleyway and was met with a sad sight.

A small puppy, no older than a year or two, was stuck inside a crate. Its head was the only thing sticking out of the wooden jail, it seemed to have chewed its way out. One of its ears was nearly gone from being torn at. Its nose had a nick in it and one of its eyes was so badly infected it could barely open it. Rowynn rushed forward and fumbled with the crate. The puppy continued to yelp until she managed to break open the latch with a rock. The puppy stumbled out and Rowynn wanted to cry. It was tiny, skinny as a twig, and lacked large patches of fur. It had a clear limp in its hind leg. It stumbled towards her blindly and collapsed in her lap. She couldn’t even tell what color he was past the mud matted in what was left of his fur. Rowynn scooped the puppy into her arms angrily. She wasn’t mad at the dog, but whoever could do this to such an innocent animal.

She rushed out of the alley and back to the horses. Arthur stood there, waiting for her. His eyes widened at the bundle in her arms.

“We don’t take in strays,” he said.

Rowynn held the puppy closer. “You took in me.”

Rowynn refused to listen to any more of his blabbering about how Dutch always said the gang didn’t want pets. Rowynn tucked the puppy in front of her on the saddle. Deciding that wouldn’t be enough, she pulled the tiny thing into her jacket and zipped it up so it wouldn’t fall out. She rode home at a slower pace but with the same amount of urgency. Arthur trailed after her but stopped his ranting when he saw the near tears in her eyes.

“Annabelle,” she screamed as Poncho bounded into camp.

Her call gained the attention of the rest of the camp, resulting in even Dutch rushing over.

“What’s wrong,” he was quick to ask. “You weren’t hurt?”

Rowynn stumbled off Poncho. “No, but I need help.”

She pulled the puppy out of her jacket and rushed to Annabelle. She gave the dog a sad look and ushered Rowynn to follow her. She heard Dutch try to follow her but Arthur stopped him. She was thankful, despite all his stubbornness, Arthur was a good person and a greater friend.

“Put him down,” Annabelle ordered.

Rowynn set the puppy on the floor and he flopped to his side, tongue lolling swollen out of his maw. Annabelle tutted and dunked a rag into a bucket of water that had been retrieved earlier in the day. Annabelle handed Rowynn the cloth and instructed her on how to clean the mud from the puppy’s fur. She mashed up a couple of herbs Rowynn didn’t know and slathered the paste onto a chunk of dried meat. The dog was quick to snap up the food and even more eager to accept the water given to it. Rowynn smiled gently as she could see the fur color show through the thick layer of mange. A medical paste was rubbed over his eye and a gash on his hind leg was wrapped. Rowynn held the puppy in her lap once the mud was gone. She continued to feed the tiny animal strips of meat until Annabelle ordered her to stop.

Dutch walked up and knelt next to her. “Arthur told me what happened.”

“He’s stayin'.” Rowynn’s eyes were blazing. “You can’t make me leave him. This gang is a family of misfits, what’s one more?”

Dutch ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the sick dog. “You’ll have to be the one to take care of him.”

“I will,” Rowynn promised. “I’ll feed him and water him. I’ll take him on walks and teach him to hunt.”

Dutch nodded. “He’s your’s then.”

Rowynn let out a sigh and looked at the sleeping puppy. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“What’d you name him?”

“Copper.”


	7. May 15, 1885

Rowynn laughed as she ran around the firepit. The sparks spat into the sky and drifted away on the wind. Copper chased after her, tripping over his too big puppy feet. The tiny dog had healed well and put on weight to the point that Arthur called him fat. His fur was growing back and his breed, an American foxhound, was finally decided upon. Rowynn yelped as Copper ran under her feet and promptly tripped her. She fell into the dirt, laughing as her face was covered in doggy kisses. Copper was hauled off her by a wild-looking John Marston. John promptly tackled Rowynn and the two began wrestling.

Dutch was laughing. “My money’s on John!”

Hosea shook his head. “Rowynn’s a wild one.”

Rowynn ended up with John pinned under her as her chest heaved. She looked down at the boy she called her brother and gave him a huge smile. His pout from losing quickly disappeared as the duo were tackled by Copper.

“Get off ya mangy hound,” John yelled yet laughter filled his voice.

Arthur whistled and the foxhound obediently padded up to his side and laid with his head in his lap.

“I swear that dog likes you more than he likes me,” Rowynn complained.

Arthur ran his hand over Copper’s face. “Maybe he does.”

John pulled Rowynn back into a little tussle. She giggled and tried to dive him to the floor but he wormed out. Bessie leaned further into Hosea. Mrs. Grimshaw had taken a seat next to Arthur and eyes Copper disapprovingly. Annabelle cozied up on Dutch’s lap and made Rowynn gag when they kissed. Annabelle noticed and turned to Rowynn with a wicked smirk.

“You don’t like kissing?” Her voice was playful.

Rowynn shook her head. “Boys are gross.”

The entire group broke down laughing. Dutch slapped Arthur’s shoulder, clearly amused.

“You don’t want to kiss Arthur?”

Rowynn’s face erupted in a blush and more laughter rose from around the campfire. Arthur smirked, clearly a little tipsy.

“Come on Rowynn,” he urged. “Come give me a big ol’ kiss.”

“I’ll never kiss you!” Rowynn declared. “Or any boy for that matter.”

“Not even John,” Bessie asked.

It was John’s turn to blush and look away. Rowynn giggled and slung her arm over John’s shoulders. He looked at her smile with shy eyes before determination flooded the tiny twelve, nearly thirteen, year old.

“Rowynn n’ I are gonna get married one day!” His voice was excited and he turned to Rowynn expectantly.

“Yeah,” Rowynn agreed. “We’re gonna become the best outlaws e’er. And we’re gonna get married.”

Hosea chuckled and slugged Arthur. “You just missed your only chance you’ll have in a long time with a girl ‘round your age.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Rowynn’s still a little too young for me.”

The group continued laughing and Rowynn fell back into John’s arms. He struggled to hold her heavier body up without falling over. Eventually, he gave up and allowed the two of them to collapse to the dirt. An excited gleam flashed across his eyes. He rushed up to Dutch and pulled him down to his level. He whispered something in his ear and the two rushed off together. Annabelle took up Dutch’s old seat and scooped Rowynn into her lap.

“We find any work in town yet?” Mrs. Grimshaw asked. “Or are we moving on soon?”

“Relax Susan,” Hosea insisted. “Dutch likes it here, I think we all like it here--”

“A little too humid,” Annabelle interrupted.

Hosea continued as if nothing happened. “And the fishin’ here is real good. No one’s come to threaten our position here and the townsfolk are quiet but kind. We just have to stay low and continue life like normal.”

“You mean stealin’ an’ all forms of dishonorable work,” Mrs. Grimshaw clarified not unkindly.

“I mean doin’ the kind of work that’s fit for us.” Hosea was still calm over it. “We’re not robbing stores and such. Just petty pickpocketing and poker games.”

“I managed to pick up a bounty from the sheriff a day ‘go,” Arthur said. “Got thirty dollars, ‘nough to let us stay here for a while more.”

Mrs. Grimshaw nodded. Bessie stared at all of their faces and then at the fire. Rowynn watched her stand and make her way into her tent. She returned a couple of minutes later with a guitar and a smile.

“I don’t like all this depressing talk,” she insisted. “Let’s continue our makeshift party again.”

She strummed a couple of cords and a few broken lines of singing came from Hosea. Arthur muttered about not being drunk enough but began belting out the lines after Hosea. Rowynn giggled and tapped her foot to the beat of the song but she didn’t sing as she didn’t know the words. Annabelle sang gently in an attempt to teach Rowynn the song. It was something about rye whiskey but Rowynn blocked out the majority of the words and just enjoyed listening to the beat. She loved nights like these. Quiet and spent by the campfire until the early hours of the morning. Rowynn leaned further into Annabelle and laughed when Copper tried to howl to the tune. Dutch came and took a seat by Annabelle and Rowynn shortly after their campfire songs began. He gave Rowynn a knowing look but then joined into the songs and didn’t say anything else.

“Rowynn,” a voice called quietly.

Rowynn turned and saw John staring at her from behind a tent. He gestured for her to come over and Rowynn pushed off of Annabelle’s lap. She trotted over and allowed John to pull her away from the group. He looked at her shyly as he held her wrist under the oaks guarded by the moon. Rowynn looked him over. His hair had grown back out from when Mrs. Grimshaw made him trim off the ends to his chin. The ends brushed the top of his shoulders and Rowynn smiled. She liked him with longer hair. A hat given to him by Arthur rested on his brow and his face was dirty like always. John looked up at her eyes and pressed something into her palm.

Rowynn looked at it curiously. It was a small, white stone with a bit of wire twisted around it. It was attached to a thin strip of leather that was tied off at the end to make a loop. Rowynn tilted her head.

“What’s this for,” she asked.

John smiled. “It’s a necklace. I made it for you. Now we have matching ones.”

Another white stone hung around John’s throat, matching the one in Rowynn’s hand. Rowynn slipped the cord over her neck and stared at the small pebble.

“It’s real pretty.” Rowynn looked at him. “Thank you.”

John nodded. “Jus’, after everything you’ve done for me it’s the least I can do.”

A moment of silence. Rowynn didn’t like the silence. She walked up and pressed a kiss to John’s cheek. She smiled up at her and Rowynn laughed. She didn’t know if he took the kiss as sisterly-brotherly love or something more. Rowynn grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the singing group. Dutch smiled at the pair and John nodded at him with a huge smile. Rowynn hoped that John took the kiss as something a little more than childhood friends.


	8. October 3, 1885

“Up n’ at ‘em girly,” Bessie yelled into Rowynn’s tent.

Rowynn sat up and rubbed her eyes and immediately shivered. The weather had been dipping into colder times but it had been dry so far. She slipped on her shoes and pushed the flap of her tent open. Copper stared at her from in her tent with tired eyes before laying his head back down. She turned her attention to the outside of her tent and her eyes widened. Snow blanketed the ground. The beginnings of icicles were forming on the leafless trees far above. The snow was only a powdering, Rowynn had seen feet more in Illinois, but it was the first time she had spent a winter outside. She smiled at Mrs. Grimshaw as she returned from the night watch. Rowynn stretched and stumbled fully to her feet.

“It’s fuckin’ cold,” John yelped as he was tossed out of his tent. 

Arthur poked his head out after him, apparently having been the one tossing him out. “It’s not that bad. You have shootin’ lessons with me today.”

“This early?”

“Before the snow might melt. Animals move into the valleys during winter and are easier to see against the snow.”

“How am I expected to shoot when I can’t feel my fingers?”

Rowynn walked up to them. “Can I join you fellers?”

“You want to go hunting,” Arthur asked in disbelief.

Rowynn nodded. “John gets to do it, so I want to try. Start pulling my weight an’ all.”

“You already do plenty of cookin’,” Arthur said.

“An’ cleanin’,” John added.

Rowynn huffed. “I want to learn how to shoot, an’ use a gun.”

“I don’t know.” Arthur ran a hand over his face and looked over Rowynn’s shoulder.

Hosea was standing a few feet away from the trio. He waved and nodded at Arthur’s gun. Arthur sighed and nodded at Rowynn.

“Why not.” He pressed the rifle into her hands. “You know how to use one of these?”

“Point an’ shoot,” Rowynn said.

Arthur huffed. “I’ll show you how to hold it when we get to the valley. Let’s go, John.”

John mounted Old Boy and Arthur patted Mouse before pulling another rifle out from her saddle. Rowynn swung her leg over Poncho and guided him over to the other boys.

“Where we headed?”

“Magnolia Hollow by the River,” Arthur declared. “Hosea went there earlier this week. Said there was lots of deer down there.”

Rowynn nodded and took another gun from Arthur. The sawed-off shotgun was heavy in her hands but easy enough to carry. A simply holster was thrown in her face. She fumbled with it before attaching it to her belt. She reckoned she looked like a real outlaw.

“What’s the shotgun for?” She pulled Poncho into a trot beside Mouse.

Arthur looked at her. “There are more than jus’ deer in this area. When there’s prey, there’s bigger meaner animals to follow. Coyotes mostly but bears and wolves are in the area.”

“Wolves?”

He smirked. “You can still go back to camp.”

Rowynn shook her head. “I’m doin’ this with or without you eventually.”

Arthur grunted and Rowynn fell back into the line, behind John. The horses struggled through a particular path leading into the valley. The path was snowed in, forcing the horses to push through knee-high snowbanks. Rowynn noted this to Arthur.

“If it’s hard for the horses it’ll be hard for the deer.”

They found a small grove of trees just outside the heavier snow. Snow dusted most of the ground but melted patches revealed bunches of grass and bushes that still clung to a few leaves. Rowynn tied Poncho to a tree and pulled her rifle off the saddle. She watched John fight to take his hat from Old Boy’s mouth. Arthur rolled his eyes and approached Rowynn.

“Point at what you want to shoot,” Arthur instructed. “Line it up on the sight, try to aim for the neck or head for a clean kill. Pull the trigger and hope it kills the thing before you have to stick it with your knife and kill it.”

Rowynn gulped but nodded. “Got it.”

“John and I are gonna head further into the valley. You stay on this side and see if you can get anything. Don’t kill more than you can carry.”

“I said I got it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ll check up on you in an hour or so. However long it takes John to take down a deer.”

And indignant ‘hey!’ came from John as he pulled Old Boy around the duo. Arthur rolled his eyes and mounted his mare. The duo took off without another word and galloped over the bottom of the valley towards the river on the other side. Rowynn turned away once they disappeared over the next knoll. She smiled at Poncho and began walking. She said she knew what she was doing to convince Arthur to take her out of camp. She had never held a gun before this, let alone shot one. She only briefly overheard Dutch and John discussing how to shoot when he first started to get lessons. She didn’t know a single thing about tracking down animals and killing them. Hell, the only thing she had killed was the man trying to hang John. She wanted to get at least some kind of animal to prove to Arthur that she wasn’t some kid with a too big mouth and too small brain, like John.

She licked her finger and held it to the wind experimentally. Nothing. The breeze was barely there and Rowynn hoped that it wouldn’t mess up her hunt. There were no animals that she could see so she set off. The valley was virtually empty to her unskilled eyes. A pair of hoof prints led away from the valley but she decided to not follow them. Some kind of pawprint, hopefully not a wolf, went further down the valley and Rowynn decided these would be the ones she followed. She went over the knoll that John and Arthur disappeared over. The horse prints messed up the location of the pawprints but they picked up a little ways away. Rowynn assumed it had fled once it heard the horses coming.

A bark disrupted her thought. Sniffing and pawing from within the forest. Rowynn lowered herself and awkwardly waddled around a tree. A group of scraggly coyotes were digging at a burrow. Their claws flung up dirt and they were clearly hunting something. Rowynn hoped they wouldn’t notice her approach. She slung the rifle from off her shoulder and took aim. The gun was heavy but easy enough to aim. She looked down the sights and closed her eyes. She pressed the trigger and the gun’s boom ricocheted off the valley’s cliffs. The coyotes screamed and howled as they bounded away. They mocked her as they rushed off in a tiny pack. Rowynn took another shot that pelting into the snow several feet from her target. Her ears were ringing and the gun’s recoil had nearly ripped her arm from her shoulder. She hoped that Arthur and John couldn’t hear her failure from where ever they were. She hissed and continued to search through the small grove of trees. Most of the animals had probably fled from the shot but she hoped that something was stupid enough to stay put.

She continued her walk through the trees, trying to keep her footsteps light but the crackle of twigs and leaves under her feet was unavoidable. She turned over a few rocks in hopes of finding a sleeping rabbit or rodent of some kind. She yelped and lunged back as she flipped over a larger rock. The brown colors on the copperhead were hard to miss as the snake stayed curled up in its place. 

“You okay?” She approached the snake carefully. “Please don’t bite me.”

The barrel of the rifle was inches from the hibernating snake’s head. She pulled the trigger and the snake nearly exploded. It lacked a head and Rowynn assumed that was good. The rest of the body was relatively intact and the snake itself was about a foot long. She smirked. If Arthur said anything about her not being able to kill a deer, she would throw the snake at him. She stuffed the small snake’s body into her sachel and continued her adventure. She heard a shot echo down the valley, followed by two more. Rowynn huffed. Those shots meant the boys had probably brought down something.

She popped out of the grove of trees unsuccessfully. The plains of the valley were still empty. She decided it would be best to wait for the animals to come to her. She ducked behind a boulder and took a seat on the cold ground. Much of the snow had melted and revealed the dead grass and mud underneath. There was no way she could spot a deer against all this, how Arthur did it was unfathomable to her.

It had been over an hour and she had yet to see John and Arthur. She wanted them to be having just as hard a time as she was but that would mean that the camp wouldn’t have fresh meat. She grumbled and pressed her head into her arms. A twig broke. Her head snapped up with wide eyes. A rabbit, the kind with black tails and giant ears, hopped around in a patch of grass, its back towards Rowynn. She smirked and pulled her rifle out. It may be overkill to kill such a small animal with such a large gun but, besides the shotgun, it was the only gun Rowynn had. She pointed at the animal’s side and shot. The bullet tore into the animal and it dropped without a noise. Rowynn whooped and rushed to her kill. She whistled for Poncho who came trotting over soon enough. She tied the rabbit to the saddle and observed her kill. The pelt was ruined but the meat would still be good. More horse hooves trotted through the valley. Arthur and John rounded the corner, both with a deer tied to the back of their horses. A turkey was tied to the side of John’s saddle as he looked down at her with a wild smirk.

Arthur observed Rowynn’s meager kill. “You don’t know how to hunt do you?”

“No,” Rowynn muttered.

Arthur grunted and swung his leg over Mouse. “John, head back to camp. We’ll meet you there later. I’m gonna spend some time with Rowynn.”

“‘ight,” John slurred and trotted off.

Arthur shook his head at the rabbit and gestured to Rowynn. “You get anythin’ else?”

Rowynn promptly tore the snake out of her satchel and flung it at Arthur. He yelped and ducked as the carcass flew over him. He turned to glare at her.

“Don’t do that,” he lectured. “And snakes aren’t worth killin’ less they’re trying to bite you. Go for something bigger. Show me how you hunt.”

Rowynn grumbled but refused to take the rifle off Poncho again. To spite Arthur, she was going to kill something with a shotgun. She crouched and stumbled over to another patch of grass. Usually, if there was one rabbit, there was bound to be more. Rowynn rolled her shoulders and pointed out a rabbit with white fur patched around its ears. He nodded encouragingly. Rowynn huffed and pulled her shotgun out of its holster. Arthur didn’t seem impressed.

“Wha’ are you tryin’ to do?” Arthur wandered up.

Rowynn didn’t spare him a glance. “I’m hunting that rabbit over there.”

“With a shotgun?” He didn’t sound impressed.

“How else? This is a gun, you kill things with guns.”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Put that down and get a rifle from your horse. I’ll show you how to shoot a rabbit.”

Rowynn snuck away from the rabbit to get her rifle. “I still want to know how you two got those deer.”

“Got lucky. They were coming down to get a drink from the river. Shot two of them ‘fore they could get ‘way.”

“John got one?”

“He did, after scaring half the herd away and ruining the animal’s pelt.”

“So, how am I supposed to do this?”


End file.
